


The Fair Maiden and the Wooden World

by shirogiku



Series: Books & Memories [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: 18th Century Women's Education, 2x08, All The Love For Miranda, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Books, Episode Related, Episode: s02e08 XVI., Fluff, Gen, James Still Doesn't Know How To Talk To Abigail, Joji's Backstory, Libraries, Literary References & Allusions, Season/Series 02, Three Nerds Being Nerds, XVI.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6894316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail, Flint and Miranda en route to Charles Town (a follow-up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6820660">The Windmill Knight and the Meditating Emperor</a>).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fair Maiden and the Wooden World

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [yeoman014](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeoman014/pseuds/yeoman014) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Kind of would really like to see something with Flint acting/feeling fatherly towards Abigail Ashe. Could be before or after the events of Charles Town, or a combination thereof.
> 
>  **A/N:** I kept trying to fill your prompt, OP, and it inspired my previous [bb!Abigail and James fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6820660), but these three just do what they want /headdesk.

As a young woman, Abigail remained deeply rooted in books and stories. It must be one of those adverse effects of overeducation that the wise men spoke so much of, but she could not imagine how else she should have coped with loss, grief, and her recent misadventures.

A pirate ship was a kingdom unto itself, a creation that defied its makers, and a sort of volatile sanctuary. The Captain was her God and King, crowned by the four winds and clad in a mantle of sea foam, with his the great cabin as his _sanctum sanctorum_ , far removed from the mere mortals.

After the gloom of the cargo hold and the dungeons, its splendour dazzled the eyes, but also gave the impression of a gilded cage. Captain Flint had told Abigail that she was welcome to his ‘modest bookshelf’, but she still felt like an intruder. Their number astonished her: how did they survive so many voyages and battles? And in such excellent condition, no less: firmly bound in leather and untouched by the scourge of mould. Even the gold lettering on the spines was intact save for an occasional dent. The order here would put an average bookseller to shame. She could not imagine that the place she had left behind would have much to offer by the way of the trade, but then again, she had only seen the worst of it.

Instinctively, she reached for _Don Quixote_ , and as if by magic, it transported her back to Father’s library as it used to be before… just before. And that was when her intuition’s voice rose from a whisper to a loud, assertive call. She turned around at once, staring at the Captain, who had been reading quietly by the receding light from the window the entire time.

“I _do_ remember you!” she cried, starting him. Embarrassed, she went on in a calmer manner: “I remember you sitting in my father’s library.” The image was so clear in her mind now! She wondered at it to have taken so long to resurface. “You were trying to read when I sneaked in.” She smiled self-consciously. “And then you and Uncle Thomas helped me sneak out. You all stayed with us for three days, I believe. Mother played her music, and Uncle Thomas and Auntie Miranda sang that song-”

The words escaped her, but she hummed the tune, and before she knew it, the Fearsome Pirate was humming along.

“You did that then, too!” He would not join them by the harpsichord, preferring to watch from his seat, but they had outmaneuvered him anyhow.

It was only when she saw the echoes of the past’s mirth battle with present sorrow on his face that she realised how indelicate she had been. She tried to apologise, but he waved it off. She could not have imagined his grim, severe person in such a state of emotional distress, and yet it connected him with that gentle, almost shy officer who had come visiting as a friend. Auntie Miranda had not changed, but Captain Flint and Lieutenant McGraw were like two different people, having to share the same space.

What a terrible thread for one’s past to hang by.

“Please,” he gestured back at his library, “don’t let me interrupt you. Borrow whatever you like.” It was clear that he did not recall how to put people at ease very well.

Her heart went out to him, filling with sympathy. She perched herself beside him with the first volume of Cervantes’s work and asked him how he managed to care for it. As he explained that he was obliged to do everything himself, including the re-binding if needed, her newly awakened esteem for him grew.

“Who would have thought that a pirate ship could have room for them?” His hands were clasped together like another book cover.

She paused. She still had to remind herself that a wrong answer would not be punishable by violence. “If knowledge is a form of power, then denying access to it is a form of control.” The Captain blinked. “It’s what my schoolmistress used to say,” she finished, studying her own hands in sudden fascination.

“She must be an opinionated sort of lady,” he offered, not asking anything, just inviting her to continue should she wish to do so, with the nuance in his tone. “It is always good to hear that London is not wholly free of them in Mrs Barlow’s absence.”

‘Mrs Barlow’ sounded like a stranger’s name, but Abigail could have used Miranda here with them. She had never spoken of her education to anybody.

“By custom, I should have been homeschooled.” He nodded. “But when Mother died, Father believed it best to send me to a private academy. Miss Darvil’s seminary was recommended to him by one of his friends.”

Abigail had not been able to befriend Marianne, that gentleman’s daughter, but there had been plenty of other girls from different social stations, from nobility to merchantry.

“Miss Darvil used to be a governess, but she had a mind to expand, so her patron sponsored her establishment.” In which outward propriety did not much impede teaching without reserve.

“Do you mean to say your curriculum included art and music?” the Captain asked.

“That, and a smattering of Latin, Greek, and mathematics,” she confessed in a whisper. “Miss Darvil has warned me what a terrible burden that would be, but… well, I persisted.”

“That is remarkable,” was the frank reply.

Abigail had envied the freedom that running a seminary provided, just a little. Miss Darvil would probably never marry, but they were not to follow her bad example. “The final lesson was to conceal undue knowledge so as not to become a social outcast.”

A strange conversation to have in this wooden world, but she could not imagine holding it anywhere else. Certainly not in Charles Town.

Captain Flint snorted. “The most important lesson of them all.” He paused. “Does the school fare well, though?”

“Oh yes!” It was a fair question, considering how many private academies folded every year. “If I should have a daughter, I would entrust her education to no one else.”

There was a lull between them, but without any sinister undercurrents. If not for the constant, steady motion of the ship, Abigail could have fooled herself into believing that this was a regular study. A myriad questions worried at her mind. culminating in: How _could_ a highly literate person like the Captain have gone a decade like this, denied and denying himself but scraps of cultured reading. It must be unbearable!

“Have you made many friends at school?” asked Miranda, from the door. “You must have been sorry to leave them behind.”

Abigail turned to her, not having heard her come in. “Um, yes. I _shall_ miss them.” Some more than others. “I do hope that nobody kidnaps my letters to them. They would fetch a poor ransom indeed.”

“Not if you fill them with your true thoughts,” the Captain quipped. “Isn’t that right, Miranda?”

“Hesiod lies about the contents of Pandora's box,” replied Miranda. “True thoughts must have been at least a half of it.”

A rich, tantalising smell was wafting towards Abigail from the tray that Miranda was carrying. There was a whole pot of hot chocolate and some fruit and biscuits. She must have resolved to feed Abigail every couple of hours.

“It would do you good, too! You need more colour on your cheeks. And besides, the treat is for all three of us.”

Abigail liked the sound of that. The Captain jokingly accused his companion of eavesdropping, and the charge was not denied - Miranda claimed that she took her chaperoning very seriously. Listening to them like this, relaxed and as at home as they could be anywhere, brought back more memories, bittersweet.

“I am so sorry about Uncle Thomas,” Abigail breathed out, clutching the large drinking cup. “I wish… I wish there was something I could do.”

“Oh my dear girl,” Miranda wrapped her arms around Abigail, smelling faintly of herbal perfume. “You have been through too much to add _our_ burdens to it.” She pulled away. “Drink up your chocolate and tell me your verdict.”

It was delicious, and she told Miranda as much. “I have just recalled a bedtime story that he told me. It must have been based on a fairy tale, but I can’t seem to find out which one.” She glanced between her hosts. “Perhaps you could help me with that?”

From what she remembered, a star fell down to earth, where she took the form of a beautiful maiden. She had many adventures, including with pirates, and finally became the queen of some small kingdom.

Captain Flint and Miranda exchanged puzzled looks. “No, that does sound like he made it up on the spot,” the latter replied at length. “Perhaps you should write it down, hmm?”

It was incomplete, missing the action and the romantic plot. Abigail thought about the stories permeating the ship that had to do with Miranda, the whispers of her being a witch and of Abigail herself having become her apprentice. One sailor had asked her to bless his sword.

The Captain’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Name?”

Abigail coloured. “Oh he could not have meant it like _that_ , I am sure!”

After a long skipped beat, he let out a short laugh. “Was it Joji? The Asian man? Tall, silent, and practically married to his blade?”

“Why ‘practically’?” asked Miranda. “Have you been so cruel as to deny officiating the ceremony, Captain?”

Abigail smiled, while, returning to his usual sternness, Captain Flint warned them both that Joji was a Kidd’s man, and best steered clear from.

“No!” Abigail gasped.

“Indeed, he is from an island called Yokoate. There, in one of the sheltered bays, Captain Kidd has buried his treasure, marked by the carving of a young kid as his private seal.”

Unlike Abigail, Miranda was not buying it. “If that is so, why on earth have you been chasing after the _Spanish_ gold?” she teased. “Turn this ship around, we are going to Asia!”

“Ah, but Joji has long since dug it all up and traded it for his magic sword. _All_ of it.”

Abigail pondered it. “But if the sword is magic, why would it require my blessing?”

“Well,” the Captain cast about for inspiration, “you see, the magic renders the wielder invincible, but it brings no good luck. There you have it.”

Miranda shook her head at him. “Do you appreciate my predicament now, my dear?” She refilled Abigail’s cup. “You can’t say a word against him without him coming up with two counters.”

“ _Only_ two?” Abigail asked innocently.

With the excuse of being needed on deck, Captain Flint made his swift exit.

“Oh no, I fear we have embarrassed him!” Miranda did not look particularly contrite. “Now then, why don’t you tell me how they wear their hair in the city these days?”

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, that was a _Stardust_ reference.


End file.
